


D1: Frenzy

by PuzzledHats



Series: AxG Week 2013 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuzzledHats/pseuds/PuzzledHats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this fabulous prompt:</p><p>obsessivereaderandwriter answered: Hmm…Frenzy, maybe it’s a modern AU, and Arya and Gendry are supposed to meet somewhere, and there’s a riot? I dunno, sorry…</p>
            </blockquote>





	D1: Frenzy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to tumblr user obsessivereaderandwriter for this prompt. I was totally stumped on several days and the prompts I received threw my mind in to over drive.
> 
> Thanks obsessivereaderandwriter, hope you like it!
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't know why I decided to try and mess with text messaging, but it just happened. Not really sure if it works, so forgive me if it is confusing.

  
It was The Forge’s last concert of their world tour. They had wanted to go out with a bang, so naturally fireworks were used; poorly constructed fireworks from the look of terror on the band member’s faces as the stage went up in flames, smoke filtering out in to the audience.  
  
The throng of people pushing to get out of the arena was deafening. Terrified screams coupled with the sound of marching feet permeated the air. Arya knew she had to get out of the crowd, but couldn’t seem to fight against the tide. She passed a massive speaker, grabbing on as she passed pulling herself on top of it.  
  
She took a moment to breathe, wondering just how many people were seriously injured. The stage at the far end, where Arya had been moments before was nothing but a thick cloud of black smoke.  
  
She felt her phone vibrate in her hand as two text messages came in one after the other; she moved quickly to respond.

She pocketed her phone, observing her surroundings. The arena was almost empty now. The stage was still smoking cutting off the backstage entrance. Instead she hopped down and followed the last stragglers out the door. The parking lot was a mess of people, most still screaming as sirens sounded.

She edged her way around the arena, back to where the buses were kept. A long chain linked fence held back fans. She slowly pushed through the fans, mostly girls, some of them crying.  
  
“OMG, what if Gendry is hurt?” One girl wailed, as she cried on her friends shoulder.  
  
“What if Hot Pie is hurt?” The friend responded tears streaming down her face as she awkwardly comforted her friend.  
  
Arya ignored them all, shoving people out of the way until she could get to the front, where an unfamiliar security guard watched the crowd apprehensively.  He stopped her with an out stretched hand when she moved to walk past him.  
  
“Nobody is allowed through,” the guard said.  
  
Arya groaned, reaching into her pockets in search of her backstage pass. It was missing. She groaned again, cursing herself for removing it from her neck in an attempt not to be harassed by fans. She pulled out her phone again.

The Hound, the band’s head of security, was the one Gendry had sent to fetch her. She made a mental note to smack him for that later.  
  
“The little she-wolf lost her badge?” He said over the security guards shoulder, chuckling.  
  
She didn’t rise to the bait, just crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Do you know her?” The security guard asked the Hound. The fans around her had gone silent, a few whispering, wondering who she was.  
  
It looked for a moment like Sandor was going to deny it. But just when Arya decided to upgrade Gendry from a smack to a kick in the shins, he nodded indicating that the man should let her pass.  
  
Once safely inside the fence, the Hound fell into step beside her.  
  
“The band is already gone,” he volunteered. “We left the bus here to distract the fans. I’m supposed to take you back to the hotel.”  
  
Twenty minutes later, she stood in front of her hotel room sliding the key in to the slot. She had barely gotten the door open, when huge arms pulled her inside wrapping her in a tight hug.  
  
Normally she would have chastised him for not allowing her to breathe, but she felt too much relief at the sight of him safe. Her own arms hugged him back just as tightly. He eventually pulled back so he could get at her mouth.  
  
It was not a gentle kiss, nor was it a gentle fuck. They didn’t bother removing all their clothes, just enough to get at each other, just enough to come together. He fucked her against the door, like they had ten minutes to live. Neither of them lasted long, too wound up with adrenaline to care.  Arya cried out when she came, clenching around him, drawing him to his own release.  
  
They collapsed to the floor leaning against the door for support, the bed too much effort.  Arya reached out one hand to brush his bandaged arm.  
  
“Won’t be able to play for a bit, lucky it happened at the end of the tour,” he offered. She gave him a sympathetic smile, knowing any amount of time away from his drums was too much in his mind.  
  
“Have you heard if anyone else was hurt?” She asked.  
  
“Hot Pie burned his leg. Two fans have broken legs, one a broken an arm. We’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” he said, anxiety lining his face. “Never trust Lommy when he says he knows all there is to know about fireworks.”  
  
“I’ll remember that,” she said laughing.  
  
He pulled her in then, pressing a kiss to her forehead.  
  
“I was terrified when I couldn’t find you through the smoke. One minute you were there, front row; the next minute there was no front row. Just smoke,” he said, his arms tightening slightly.  
  
“I would have been in total panic if I hadn’t seen Hot Pie pushing you off the stage,” she confessed.  
  
“Hot Pie had to push me off the stage because I was about to dive off it to look for you.”  
  
“I love you,” she said, lifting a hand to trace his eyebrow, letting it then move to scratch his skull. His eyes rolled back in his head slightly.  
  
“I love you too,” he moaned. “But next time you come to a concert, you’re staying back stage. Where I know you’re safe. None of this ‘I’m your biggest fan. I have to be in the front row’ crap.”  
  
His imitation of her was a little too spot on, but she let it slide.  
  
“As long as Lommy isn’t in control of any more fireworks, you’ve got a deal,” she laughed.


End file.
